The Lost Queen of England

Contents

CHRONOLOGY OF ANCIENT EGYPT

ANCIENT CAST

OF CHARACTERS

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

SIXTY-NINE

SEVENTY

SEVENTY-ONE

SEVENTY-TWO

SEVENTY-THREE

SEVENTY-FOUR

SEVENTY-FIVE

SEVENTY-SIX

SEVENTY-SEVEN

SEVENTY-EIGHT

SEVENTY-NINE

EIGHTY

EIGHTY-ONE

EIGHTY-TWO

EIGHTY-THREE

EIGHTY-FOUR

EIGHTY-FIVE

EIGHTY-SIX

EIGHTY-SEVEN

EIGHTY-EIGHT

EIGHTY-NINE

NINETY

NINETY-ONE

NINETY-TWO

NINETY-THREE

NINETY-FOUR

NINETY-FIVE

GLOSSARY

ENDNOTES

This book would never have been written without the constant encouragement and support of my family. To my husband, Churchill, who took me on an exotic honeymoon that awakened my fascination with Egypt; to my daughter, Jamesy, who helped make this a better book with her timely suggestions and amazing computer skills; to my daughter, Allyson, who greeted each new revision with unbridled enthusiasm; to my two granddaughters, Emma and Samantha, who love to listen to my stories; to my son-in-law, Jerry, who graciously allowed me to use his designer whenever I needed help with the book’s cover and maps; to my dog, Tbird, who patiently slept under my desk for three and a half years; and, lastly, to my mother, Birdie, whose life-long example of eternal optimism made me believe that I could actually write a book, and whose spiritual presence kept me company throughout the whole exciting process.

CHRONOLOGY OF ANCIENT EGYPT

*Bold indicates time period relevant to story.

ANCIENT CAST

OF CHARACTERS

Akhenaten (Akh-en-at’-en) – Amenhotep IV, Pharaoh of Egypt

Ay (Eye) – Great Royal Father, Grand Vizier, Father of Nefertiti, brother of Queen Tiye

Horemheb (Hor’-em-heb) – General of Pharaoh’s armies

Mutnodjmet (Mut-nod’-je-may) – Sister of Nefertiti

Nakhtmin (Nakht’-min) – General of southern armies

Natima (Na-tee’-ma) – Handmaiden to Queen Ankhesenamun

Nefertiti (Ne-fer-tee’-tee) – Queen of Egypt, royal wife and consort of Akhenaten

Pashdu (Pash-du’) – Servant of Nefertiti, husband of Yatu

Queen Tiye (Tee’) – Queen Mother, widow of Amenhotep III, mother of Akhenaten

Royal Princesses, daughters of Akhenaten and Nefertiti:

Merytaten (Me-ryt-at’-en) – Wife of Pharaoh Smenkhkare

Meketaten (Me-ket-at’-en)

Ankhesenpaaten (Ankh’-e-sen-pa-at’-en) / Ankhesenamun (Ankh’-e-sen-a-mun’) – Wife of Pharaoh Tutankhamun, Queen of Egypt.

Nefer-Nefru-Aten-Ta-Shera – Called Ta-Shera (Ta-Sher’-ra)

Nefer-Nefru-Ra (Ne’-fer-nef’-ru-Ra) – Called Little Kitten

Setepenra (Se’-te-pen’-ra)

Seth – Royal artist

Smenkhkare (Smenkh-ka’-re) – Co-regent with Akhenaten, Pharaoh for one or two years after death of Akhenaten

Tutankhaten (Tut-ankh-at’-en) / Tutankhamun (Tut-ankh-a-mun’) – Pharaoh of Egypt after death of Smenkhkare

Ty (Ty) – Wife of Ay

Yatu (Ya-tu’) – Nurse of the royal children at Akhetaten

… the true romance of modern excavation lies in this, not that it can reveal the dead monarchs of thirty centuries back in all their splendour, but that, by its patient piecing together of innumerable small details, it can give back to us the actual life of the period in which the dead monarch lived, and let us see the order of his court, and, what is far more important to our knowledge of the past, the traffic of the market place in his cities, and the intercourse of his land with the nations around it … A science which can accomplish such a miracle of resurrection can never lack the element of true romance in the eyes of anyone who has a real sense of the wonders of life.

James Baikie,

A Century of Excavation in the

Land of the Pharaohs

(London, 1923), pp. 44-5

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

The Great Pyramids of Giza were almost a thousand years old when an Eighteenth-Dynasty Queen named Hatshepsut moved the capital of Egypt from Memphis (modern-day Cairo) to the southern city of Thebes (now known as Luxor). For the next five centuries, the great Theban kings carved their tombs into the cliffs of a starkly beautiful valley located two miles west of Thebes. This royal burial ground was named The Great and Majestic Necropolis of the Millions of Years of the Pharaoh, Life, Strength, Health in the West of Thebes. It is now called The Valley of the Kings.

The ancient Egyptians did not fear death. They believed in a life after death that was even richer and more beautiful than the life they had experienced before. Thus, after the death of a king, his body would go through elaborate embalming rituals that lasted for a period of seventy days—the optimal time needed to prepare and preserve it for use in the afterlife. The king’s body would then be wrapped in fine linens, laid in a golden coffin, and taken to the resplendent Mansion of Eternity that had been prepared for him in the Majestic Necropolis. His coffin would be placed into a carved stone sarcophagus, the heavy lid would be lowered and affixed, and the tomb would be sealed. Then, finally, the king would lie for Millions of Years amid his treasury of lavish funerary furnishings, great quantities of food and wine, and precious oils.

The brave tomb police—medjay—valiantly strove to protect these sealed crypts. But despite their efforts, almost every burial vault eventually fell prey to the clever thieves who lurked in the valley, patiently waiting for their chance to plunder the hidden troves of their dead kings.

Eventually, it was decided to move the Royal Court back to northern Egypt, and the southern Valley of the Kings was deserted—but not forgotten. Over the millennia, many came to investigate the valley’s stunning rock-cut tombs. And they left us proof that they had been there by carving their names and dates into the walls and ceilings of the crypts—in Latin, Greek, Phoenician, Coptic, etc. The earliest graffiti was dated 278 BC.[1]

Then, Napoleon’s French savants returned from their 1797-99 Egyptian expedition with such evocative drawings of the valley necropolis that many modern-day Europeans were lured to Egypt to see these ancient wonders for themselves.

Vast underground crypts filled with vibrant and mysterious art stunned the first archaeologists who came to investigate. Many stayed and dedicated their lives to solving the mysteries of the great kings who had ruled during that golden age. They called themselves ‘Egyptologists,’ and it is from their exhaustive work that we have learned so much about the lives and customs of these ancient rulers and their people.

Beginning in the early 1800s, the modern world watched as sixty-one tombs were uncovered. The stone chambers were filled with astoundingly vibrant murals depicting strange religious rituals and beautiful animal-headed gods—but every single one had been robbed of its treasures.

Then came King’s Valley #62.

In 1922, Howard Carter stumbled upon a single stone step, which led to the discovery of the splendid tomb of the boy king, Tutankhamun. Incredibly, the sealed vault had remained untouched for more than thirty-two centuries and still contained its fabulous trove of funerary wealth. That unprecedented discovery provided such a detailed and intimate picture of the beautiful young pharaoh that a worldwide passion was ignited. The world marveled at the golden treasures of a boy who had become king at only nine years of age. Even today, the obsession continues because there is still so much mystery surrounding Tut’s life and times. What caused his death at the age of eighteen? Had he died in a tragic accident, or had he been murdered? And what happened to his lovely queen, Ankhesenamun, who vanished immediately after Tut’s death—never to be heard of again?

We learned that Tutankhamun’s father was the infamous Rebel Pharaoh, Akhenaten, who had inherited a strong and prosperous Egypt from the great Amenhotep III. But soon after ascending the throne, the idealistic young Akhenaten had started a religious revolution. He elevated his own favorite god, the Aten, above all others, enraging the powerful priests of Amun—Egypt’s principal deity. It wasn’t long before the iconoclastic Akhenaten and his beautiful consort, Nefertiti, felt compelled to create a new city for their god, and they set out to establish a utopia.

Pharaoh chose a piece of virgin land halfway between Egypt’s two capitals—Thebes and Memphis. The site was a desolate desert plain on the east bank of the Nile, surrounded on three sides by a crescent of cliffs. Soon, the royal couple and those in their court who wished to convert to the new religion left Thebes and moved to the new city. This perfect place was named Akhetaten—the horizon or seat of the Aten. And Pharaoh Akhenaten ruled Egypt from that remote outpost for almost seventeen years.

But, during Akhenaten’s troubled reign, Egypt was beset by many woes. The people suffered not only religious and political turmoil, but they also endured drought, famine, plague, and threats of invasion from their ever-opportunistic enemies. The precarious balance between order and chaos—ma’at—had been upset, and one of Egypt’s most peaceful and prosperous times quickly came to an end.

After the death of King Akhenaten, Egypt was ruled by a rather shadowy figure named Smenkhkare. His time on the throne was brief, and after his death one of Akhenaten’s sons from the royal harem was crowned—nine-year-old Tutankhaten. His right to the throne was strengthened by marriage to his half -sister, Princess Ankhesenpaaten, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Akhenaten and Queen Nefertiti. At first, the young couple continued to rule from the isolated city that Akhenaten had built. But soon, the powerful advisers surrounding this newly crowned boy convinced him that it would be politically advantageous to move the royal court back to Thebes and quickly reinstate the worship of the old god, Amun. Tut agreed. He and his young queen also changed their names to reflect a renewed allegiance to the god Amun. Thus, they became Pharaoh Tutankhamun and Queen Ankhesenamun.

Abandoned by their young king and with their god in disfavor, the disillusioned citizens of the beautiful new city of Akhetaten began to desert the perfect place. It was soon consumed by sand … and forgotten in time.

In the early 1700s, a French priest traveling through the Nile Valley came across a lovely carved boundary stela and made note. Napoleon’s Corps de Savants came to investigate sometime between 1797 and 1799, making the first maps of the ancient city. Sir John Gardner Wilkinson, along with James Burton, explored and mapped the ancient foundations in 1824 and 1826–1828, followed by Richard Lepsius in 1842–1845, and others.

Then, in 1887, a woman out digging for sabakh (deteriorated mud bricks used for fertilizer and fuel) unearthed a cache of three hundred cuneiform tablets written in the lingua franca of the Late Bronze Age—Akkadian. The tablets were soon interpreted as diplomatic dispatches from foreign envoys and named the Amarna Letters. That significant discovery brought even more attention to the site. Sir Flinders Petrie came in 1890 and began extensive excavations, surveys, and mapping. In 1892, a young artist named Howard Carter (future discoverer of KV62) joined Petrie’s team. In 1901, Norman de Garis Davies, sponsored by the Egypt Exploration Society, spent six years in Amarna and published The Rock Tombs of El Amarna.

Those who came to investigate the isolated spot thought it odd that, even though it appeared to have once been a large and vibrant city on the banks of the life-giving Nile, no one had lived there since it had been abandoned, more than thirty-two centuries before. They were also astonished by the provocative art that was uncovered, which depicted a rather strange-looking king, his beautiful wife, and their six young daughters basking in the beneficent rays of the sun.

The site was named Tel el Amarna after a tribe of nomads that had settled in the surrounding area. And ever since then, the controversial era of Akhenaten and his immediate successors: Smenkhkare, Tutankhamun, Ay, and Horemheb, has been called the Amarna Period—1353–1307 BC (approx). This intriguing fifty-year period brought an end to ancient Egypt’s Eighteenth Dynasty, which had lasted almost two hundred and twenty-five years.

***

The early archaeologists who came to Egypt soon discovered that, for three thousand years, the necropolis had been virtually unprotected. They also discovered that the burial vaults in the Valley of the Kings had suffered from a constant plague of thieves—almost from the moment they were orignally sealed.

For many years, an infamous family of tomb robbers treated the valley as their own private treasury—secretly looting undiscovered caches at will. Their trade in the illegal antiquities market raged, unchecked, for generations. We will never know how many precious artifacts were lost forever—sold to unscrupulous collectors and unwitting tourists. The fact that the early archaeological teams that dug in Egypt were granted certain partage agreements—usually a 50-50 split—that allowed them to cart off precious relics as their own only added to the loss. Some artifacts were taken legally, some not. Today, the treasures of Egypt’s ancient kings are scattered around the globe—in private collections, antique stores, art galleries, and national museums.

For many years, foreigners controlled the agencies that granted permission to conduct digs, but gradually the Egyptian government began to take over. Egypt began to recognize the value of its own history and realized that the outflow of its ancient treasures had to be stopped. Today, Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, the SCA, is the governing agency that approves all concessions for dig sites. And it is, as it should be, very protective of Egypt’s treasures. The country has even begun a relentless campaign for the return of many important artifacts that still reside in foreign museums and private collections.

Because of a dearth of Egyptian archaeologists, the govenment has also started to seek out and support those who show an interest in their country’s rich heritage. As the number of qualified Egyptian archaeologists has increased, it has become more difficult for foreign teams to gain concessions. It has even been theorized in some archaeological circles that Egypt’s Council will use almost any means to prevent outsiders, non-Egyptians, from being the finders of the next Greatest Discovery. Consequently, obtaining permission to dig in Egypt, especially in the Valley of the Kings, has now become a rather tricky business.

***

Over the years, the many excavations in the Valley of the Kings have created immense debris piles. These mountains of rubble have gradually altered the ancient ground levels of the valley, causing water from the occasional flash flood to drain directly down into some of the tombs. The raging waters then wreak havoc on everything inside: painted frescoes, funerary items, and mummies. Recently, work has begun to return the valley to its original ground levels in an effort to prevent any further damage to already uncovered tombs—and to preserve others that have yet to be discovered.

But, until recently, no new tombs had been found in the Valley of the Kings—none since Tutankhamun’s. And after centuries of looting, exploration, and digging, many people thought that the necropolis had given up all its secrets.

However, something happened in the year 2000 that hinted that the Valley still has a few surprises left—hidden under all that rock and rubble.

The Amarna Royal Tomb Project (ARTP) had decided to conduct radar scans of their concession in the area adjacent to Tut’s tomb, which included the tourist sidewalk. Astonishingly, the scans revealed two mysterious voids beneath the tarmac. The archaeological world was stunned when it realized there could still be undiscovered tombs buried under the mounds of scree and dig litter—or, as in this case, hidden under the main walkway where thousands of oblivious tourists walked every day.

The ARTP hoped to further investigate their surprising find, but, unfortunately, their leader soon found himself facing charges of smuggling. Even though the accusations were eventually proven to be false, their concession was revoked. Before the ARTP could overcome that impediment, one of their anomalies was discovered by another archaeological team. It was given the official number of KV63 (KV62 was Tut’s tomb) and was summarily excavated. Disappointingly, it was only a funerary cache—a probable preparation site for an actual burial. The chamber contained what amounted to embalming supplies: jars of natron, discarded linens, seven empty wooden coffins, and a tiny, pink gold coffinette.

The television special was informative and interesting, but disappointment was evident in the voice of every archaeologist in the chamber. They had all hoped for so much more.

Now, there was just one more mysterious void left to be explored.

Radar Anomaly #2.

ONE

THE VALLEY OF THE KINGS

2010

There wasn’t so much as a whisper of a breeze to stir the scorched air in the valley. The creatures of the desert jumped and skittered across the sizzling griddle of sand, searching for some dark, cool respite from the sear. Biting flies congregated under every available awning and relentlessly punished those who sought to share their shade.

Dr. Fermoy came out from deep inside the tomb, winced at the glare of the sun, and immediately ducked under the shelter of a work tent. She fished a bottle of water out of the cooler and collapsed into a rickety camp chair. As she tied her long black hair up into a ponytail, she wondered how long she would have to wait for the arrival of the secretary general of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities.

Her team was poised before an ancient wall, waiting to open a tomb that appeared to have escaped discovery for thirty-three centuries. And the wall that separated them from the main burial vault bore a pristine royal seal—an incredibly rare occurrence that had happened only once before in the valley. So, the secretary general had to be present to witness the removal of the stamped clay daub. Only after his authorization would her team finally be allowed to dismantle the brick barrier and open the tomb.

The tedious preliminary work had taken weeks. Basket after basket of rubble had been hauled out, and the stone floor in front of the plastered mud brick wall had been swept clean. Every protocol had to be observed so as to not taint the significance of the find or damage any ancient forensics they might need in the future.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, picturing the treasures that might be waiting for them on the other side of the wall. The sounds of the valley filled her senses as the work gangs busily hummed in a mélange of Arabic, German, French, and Italian. The drone of their voices combined with the rhythmic sounds of digging, scraping, tapping—creating the echo of an ancient song. It was old music that stirred the blood of every archaeologist who had ever dreamed of finding an unopened tomb, its secret chambers stuffed with golden treasures and royal mummies that had slumbered under the sands for thousands of years … just waiting.

To distract herself from the valuable minutes that were ticking away, Dr. Fermoy gazed up at the Theban Peak that loomed over the valley. She idly wondered if the discovery of this pyramid-shaped mountain had been the impetus for the ancient kings to dig their lavish tombs in its shadow. It was grander than all the pyramids built by their ancestors. Had they perhaps believed that it had been fashioned by the gods themselves?

She checked her watch and groaned. Where can he be?

She reminded herself that it was he who had given her this chance of a lifetime. It was he who had granted her request to dig at this coveted site where radar scans had revealed a mysterious void beneath the sands.

Dr. Fermoy had first heard about the intriguing voids while doing field work in Amarna with the Egypt Exploration Society. Every dig site throughout Egypt had been abuzz with speculation. Had radar revealed the location of two possible tombs? One had already been explored and found to be a funerary cache, filled with embalming supplies and empty coffins.

But the other mysterious void remained uninvestigated. Everyone had agreed that whoever was lucky enough to be granted permission to conduct that dig would very soon discover the burial vault associated with the embalming cache. And, because the void was in such close proximity to Tut’s famous tomb, speculation was high that it could be the burial chamber of one of the missing Amarnans—family members of King Tutankhamun.

Archaeologists the world over started vying for the concession. Whoever was chosen would be the envy of their peers.

And then … fate dealt a card.

While on a dreamlike cruise up the Nile, Dr. Fermoy stumbled across a startling find in the desert plain of Amarna. She soon came to believe that she had been chosen by the ancients to tell the story of King Tutankhamun’s lost queen. And she thought that Anomaly #2 just might be the little queen’s tomb.

So, immediately upon her return from that fateful cruise, she had sought an interview with the secretary general of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities (SCA), and that first meeting had gone better than she could have ever hoped. She had presented her evocative theories regarding Tut’s lost queen, along with her impressive resume listing the many credentials she had worked so hard to accumulate over the past twelve years—and she had crossed her fingers. She was stunned when, less than two weeks later, the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities put its stamp of approval on her permits, granting her the concession that contained Anomaly #2.

Dr. Fermoy breathed deeply and smiled, remembering the first day she had come into the necropolis as the head of her own archeaological team. She had just stepped out of the jeep when a tiny cyclone of sparkling sand engulfed her. She had stood still, temporarily blinded by the swirl, and then she thought she could hear ancient whisperings. It was just another strange incident in a series of many, all of which had convinced her that she was following her destiny and that she was meant to be there.

The early stages of the the excavation had been thrilling for her. But, in reality, it was pretty tedious stuff: hauling, sifting, photographing, and cataloging tiny bits of history—all of it done in choking heat and dust. Her team had proceeded slowly and was painstakingly careful to make sure every step was correctly executed. Occasionally, they were rewarded with little pieces of an ancient puzzle, but nothing earth-shattering. And then, just two days ago, they had reached the brick wall that bore the royal seal.

Broiling in the stifling heat, she sipped from the bottle of already tepid water. Then—a movement in the distance. She squinted toward the entrance of the valley and watched as a shimmering black blob evolved into a car. Here we go, she said aloud. And she suddenly had the odd sensation of feeling her life distill down to that moment. She unfolded herself from the canvas chair and walked over to greet the man who had given her this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

She hadn’t particularly liked the secretary general at first. In his TV specials, he seemed like a promoter, a showman who sometimes embellished history with intrigue and mystery that didn’t actually exist. She had thought him arrogant and self-serving with his Indiana Jones hat and movie-star smile. But slowly, she had come to realize that he simply had the heart of a storyteller. He was a dream-weaver. Over time, he had won her grudging respect for his tremendous dedication to preserving his country’s ancient heritage. He waged a constant battle, every day, shamelessly trying to guilt the museums of the world into returning his country’s plundered antiquities.

After all, Dr. Fermoy, he had once said to her, these are missing pieces of Egypt’s history and they belong to her people—just like the Crown Jewels of England or the original copy of America’s Declaration of Independence. I am committed to bringing our lost treasures home.

So, here he was … at last.

Finally! she said, laughing, as the car door opened.

He stepped out and with his broad grin, clasped her hand in his. Both of them were excited—eager, but nervous. They believed they were on the brink of the greatest discovery in Egypt since Howard Carter peeked through the tiny breach in the wall of Tut’s tomb. Of course, they were also keenly aware that this was the moment when all their hopes could be crushed—the tomb already plundered of its wonders—nothing left but broken and empty coffins, mutilated mummies and flood-damaged bits and pieces that were far beyond any hope of analysis or restoration.

The secretary general bowed slightly at the top of the short entrance shaft and swept his arm in front of him, inviting Dr. Fermoy to lead the way. As she climbed down the ladder into Egypt’s past, she flashed back to the events that had led her to this moment.

She couldn’t believe that it had been thirteen years.

She had changed so much that she was barely recognizable even to her own eyes. Egypt had become her home. That other life she once led seemed no more real to her now than a fairy tale. So long ago. So much time—time to rethink a decision that had changed her life forever.

If I could go back, would I?

TWO

LONDON, ENGLAND

1980

It was utter chaos from the very beginning—the mad rush of publicity, the whirlwind of attention, the flashbulbs of instant celebrity. And it was all so terribly exciting, she had to admit. After all, she would someday be queen, and the world wanted to know everything about the shy young girl who had captured their prince. She was living the fairy tale for them.

After the wedding, surely things would settle down and return to normal. That was what they kept telling her—what they all hoped. Then, she would be just another member of the royal family—and she and her prince would live happily ever after.

Of course, that never happened. She became a national obsession—everyone loved the new princess. But alas, the prince loved someone else.

Then it all spiraled out of control.

Fifteen years after the magical wedding, Diana was out on her own—no more Her Royal Highness, no more Royal Protection Squad. She was stalked and hunted almost like an animal, and every tiny facet of her life was photographed, analyzed, and judged. Nothing, no matter how humiliating, was considered too private—embarassing phone calls, lost lovers, even her daily workout routine became fodder for the tabloids. She was always running and ducking her head … trying to hide.

Her life became a circus.

She floundered. She seemed to falter.

But then, gradually, Diana gained a foothold in her new reality and started to change her image: that of a scorned, anorexic, muddle-headed ninny. She returned to the familiar arena of humanitarianism, and soon the positive headlines began to crowd out the bad. Her recent trip to Bosnia with the International Campaign to Ban Landmines focused global attention on the horrible injuries that the buried and forgotten mini-bombs caused, especially to innocent children at play. She had stirred the conscience of the world. And, even though she was sometimes accused of using her fame to further her causes, Diana didn’t care. After all, she had paid the price for that privilege, hadn’t she?

She had surived firestorms of scandal and controversy, and everything in her life had been turned upside-down. Now, with her two sons growing up, there would be even more drastic changes to come. William and Harry would soon be spending most of their time at school or with their father, learning the business of royalty—getting Windsor-ized.1 Sadly, the care and feeding of the two heirs to the throne would no longer be her happy responsibility.

So. What to do with the extra time on her hands. She thought she might use it to right some wrongs, mend some fences, do more good works. And, after a few more years, perhaps she would try to make a private life for herself … somehow.

But a tiny voice inside told her that she would never be able to escape it all.

Then she met Dodi. And the sudden development of a new and exciting relationship made her even more eager for a fresh start.

What did he say on the boat that day?

How can I make you happy, Diana?

Oh, how about a totally new life, for starters? she said flippantly.

I can give you that. Just give me the chance, he said, as he gathered her hands into his.

She had no idea, at the time, that Dodi would indeed give her the opportunity to start a new life. And that it would happen all too soon.

THREE

There had been so many chances for love—first, her lost prince, then the riding instructor, the rugby player, the art dealer, the bodyguard—so many heartbreaks. Diana had adored the doctor and had tried very hard to fit into his life; she had even studied Islam. But it hadn’t been enough, in the end. Their cultural differences were too great, and his family had disapproved of her. It seemed that the only thing they really had in common was their mutual hatred of the irritating paparazzi and the insatiable curiosity of the public that fueled the fire.

Time, she kept telling herself, would heal the wounds.

So, when the first invitation came from Mohamed al-Fayed, inviting Diana and her boys for a holiday at his villa in St. Tropez, she accepted. She remembered that she had already met al-Fayed’s son, Dodi, when his polo team had played and defeated Charles’s team at Windsor Park. And she had found him sweet and interesting, at the time. So the prospect of a few days of fun and relaxation in the luxurious privacy of al-Fayed’s world sounded like the perfect remedy for yet another failed love affair.

The maddening, persistant paparrazi intruded, of course, whenever they could find a chink in the tight security of the villa. But its opulent seclusion offered them almost complete privacy. It was only when they ventured out on the Jonikal, al-Fayed’s magnificent new yacht, that they became exposed to the telephoto lenses. And, while certainly not condoning the outlandish behavior of the photographers, Diana thought she had finally learned how to exert a certain amount of control over them. She knew that they would be relentless until they captured some provocative pictures they could sell, so she staged a few photo opportunities.

The dashing Egyptian playboy and she were captured out on the deck of the fabulous yacht, basking in the sun, laughing and talking, face to face. Then, they were caught swimming together in the blue waters off the coast of St. Tropez—playing, teasing. Diana knew that the pictures would fly around the globe in an instant. Would they start a few rumors, stir things up a bit, cause a little jealousy in certain corners? Oh, she hoped so. There was nothing at all wrong with a little innocent flirting, was there?

But it wasn’t long before Diana felt a real spark of attraction for Dodi. So, when he extended another invitation, she felt that old, familiar surge of excitement. Could this be the beginning of something—perhaps another chance for love?

They spent quite a lot of time together over the next six weeks, exploring likes and dislikes and hopes for the future. They shared their life histories and found much in common. Both were children of privilege who had grown up without their mothers. And, while neither had excelled in school, they had both done well in sports. They led similarly luxurious lifestyles, so Dodi was obviously no gold-digger who might end up writing a kiss-and-tell book to pay the rent. Unfortunately, Diana was all-too-well acquainted with that particularly vile form of betrayal.

She told him about the painful events of her childhood, chief among them the abandonment of her mother. Of course he already knew, as did everyone else on the planet, the sad tale of her life as the Princess of Wales and the crushing disappointments she had endured while married to England’s heir to the throne.

Dodi told her about growing up without his own mother, his life as a playboy and as a Hollywood mogul. And then he told her all about my Egypt. And he made it sound so exotic and romantic that, even though Diana had enjoyed a brief visit to Cairo during her princess years, now she wanted to go back—with him as her guide.

I will take you there, he promised. We will go to the pyramids and Abu Simbel, the Valley of the Kings, Karnak, and the haunting city of Akhetaten, where Nefertiti once lived.

At the mention of that ancient city, Diana remembered a book about Egypt that she had read as a girl and how it had made her feel as if she had lived there in another lifetime. She told Dodi the whole sad saga of Tutankhamun and his young queen and the tragedy of their ancient love story.

Tut’s wife was named Ankhesenamun and she was one of Nefertiti’s six daughters. After Tut’s death, his beautiful young queen, the one you see pictured in his tomb, completely disappeared from history. And no trace of her has ever been found. They don’t know whether she was killed by the evil old man she was forced to marry or if she somehow escaped the dangerous court of Thebes. That’s how this book ended—with her escape. I know I’m just being romantic, but something like that must have actually happened because, well—doesn’t it seem a bit strange that we still have no idea what happened to her, and that not even a trace of the great Tutankhamun’s wife has ever been found?

Even though Dodi had grown up with the tales of Tutankhamun, he didn’t know much about the king’s royal consort. I do remember his queen being mentioned, but only as a sidelight to him. Everything was always about the ‘Golden Pharaoh’ and the ‘Greatest Discovery’ of all time. It’s been almost eighty years since the day they opened that tomb, and since then, every detail of his life has been minutely dissected. I’m sure you’ve seen the incredible treasures they found—the gold, the jewels, all the beautiful artifacts. Millions of tourists flock to Cairo every year just to see it all. You simply must let me take you to Egypt, Diana. Just name the date.

He wrapped his arms around her. You know … the only way to capture the feel of ancient Egypt is to slowly sail up the Nile, from Cairo to Aswan. You sit out on the deck and feel the heat of the desert move over the water, and you drink your tea, and you gaze out over a landscape that has barely changed for five thousand years. And I swear to you, at such mystical places like Karnak and Abu Simbel, you can almost feel the presence of ancient kings. Dodi’s whispered, Arabic-tinged voice evoked a sense of timeless mystery. And Diana’s imagination wasn’t the only thing he stirred.

He was a sweet, handsome, fun-loving man who was always attentive and complimentary, and with whom she felt comfortable and safe. And, he seemed to adore her, which was exactly what she needed.

Diana wondered if she could learn to trust again. Should I take the chance? Have I finally found someone to fill the empty spaces in my life?

It was almost perfect. The only thing that she would have changed, if she could, was the ever-present paparazzi—always buzzing around like insects. At first, Dodi calmly tolerated the pests, as he called them—part of the baggage that he knew he must endure if he wanted to be with her. She thought, at least in the beginning, that he might have even enjoyed the fact that he was the new man of the hour. But as their relationship deepened and he experienced the constant heckling firsthand, he became increasingly more intolerant and protective. Diana hoped he wouldn’t be driven away. It had happened before. But, what could she do about it, really? She was destined to live out her life in a fishbowl, wasn’t she?

FOUR

Oh, those last, sun-filled days.

The Jonikal swanned around the Mediterranean, first to Monaco and then on to Portofino, just south of La Spezia. And, one by one, it gathered up a following of little buzzing boats, bristling with telephoto lenses. They dropped anchor off the coast of Elba, where they were snapped canoodling on deck and playing in the turquoise sea. Then they left rocky Elba in their wake and leisurely wound their way to Olbia, northeast of Sardinia, for two more lovely days in the sun.

But, they were never really alone.

They were so immersed in those first heady days of new love that they were almost oblivious to the frenzy that was developing around them. The photos sold like hotcakes and the paparazzi were in voyeuristic heaven. There Diana was—prettily perched out on the boat’s diving board in a turquoise maillot. There she was again, jackknifing into the sea in an eye-popping leopard print. The lovers were splashed across the front pages of the tabloids—talking, laughing, touching—their glowing faces turned to the sun. One lucky chap made a fortune when he sold a photo entitled The Kiss.

To Diana, the nine-day cruise was sheer perfection—exotic ports, delicious food and wine, the exciting new relationship, and loads of time to reflect on a new direction she hoped to take in her life. But, all too soon, it was time to return to England.

Because they couldn’t bear to part quite yet, Dodi suggested that they make a quick stopover in Paris. His father had recently leased the famous Villa Windsor, and he thought that Diana might like to see it. For its historical significance … in-so-much as it applies to you, my darling, he said. After all, the Duke of Windsor’s abdication shortly after he was crowned Edward VIII was the singular act that had put Prince Albert, Queen Elizabeth’s father, on the throne of England.

During their flight to Paris, Diana thought back over the beautiful holiday. Now it was almost over, but it had taken their relationship to a much deeper level. Dodi had told her that he would never, ever be with anyone else. She had given him a pair of antique cufflinks that had belonged to her father, signing the gift, Fondest Love. Now she was looking forward to the next step.

If only we had been given a little more time.

FIVE

The Sardinian cruise had been a dream—and then Paris turned into a nightmare.

Al-Fayed’s Gulfstream landed at Le Bourget Airfield, where Dodi and Diana were met by a car and driven to the Villa Windsor in the Bois de Boulogne. As they walked through the fourteen rooms of the lavish nineteenth-century villa, Diana couldn’t help feeling sad.

"It seems England’s monarchs are forever falling in love with the wrong people. We lost a perfectly good king to the wiles of an American divorcee named Wallis Simpson, who, as you can see, was a rather homely, middle-aged woman. Even so, she somehow captured Edward’s heart while he was still the Prince of Wales, and he desperately wanted to marry her. Of course, the royal family forbade it. But he must have been mad for her, because shortly after he was crowned King Edward VIII, he abdicated the throne in favor of his younger brother, Prince Albert. Afterward, the disgraced couple became the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and lived out their rather empty lives in a spectacle of tawdry celebrity.

But, you know, he always looked so sad to me, continued Diana. "Lost, almost. I think he came to doubt his choice to give it all up for, quote, ‘the woman I love.’ Do you know, they even went to Germany and shook hands with Hitler? The führer supposedly promised Edward that if the Germans won the war, he would give him back his crown. It was quite the scandal. Everywhere they went, they were surrounded by a whirlwind of publicity, and they were a constant source of embarrassment for the royal family. In that respect, I guess I have a lot in common with them."

Diana knew that her overwhelming popularity had been extremely disconcerting for the royal family, Charles especially. She hadn’t even understood it herself. What with all the embarrassing revelations of the last few years, she knew that the Queen would love to find a way to marginalize her, now that she and Charles were no longer married.

If it weren’t for the fact that I’m the mother of the future king of England, said Diana, well, you never know what they might have cooked up. I suppose I’m very lucky it’s the twentieth century and not the sixteenth, and that Charles is no Henry VIII. But truth be told, even she wished she could find a way to escape it all—some way to just disappear.

After the tour of the villa, they were driven to Dodi’s apartment on the Rue Arsene-Houssaye—a fashionable neighborhood located near the Arc de Triomphe. As she stared out the window of the car, Diana watched the people strolling along the Champs-Elysées. They were just normal, everyday Parisians, out buying warm baguettes and wine. And she found herself envious of their freedom, wishing that she and Dodi could just get out of the car and walk through the Tuileries. They could stop to share a warm crepe at one of the little food stands and watch the toy boats bob in the splashing fountains.

It would never be possible—not for her.

Diana’s pleasant daydream was suddenly interrupted by the raucous shouting of a mob of reporters waiting outside Dodi’s apartment. They were both jostled on the way in, and Dodi’s bodyguards tried to calm the situation by promising some photo opportunities later, if they could all just quiet down a bit.

A little later, the couple braved the phalanx of cameras again to go to the Ritz. Dodi wanted to show Diana his father’s lavish hotel, and he also had an errand to run nearby. Diana wanted to get her hair done before dinner anyway, so off they went.

While she was having her hair blown out, Diana called her friend and confidant, Richard Kay of London’s Daily Mail. Just coming off the cruise, she was still on an emotional high—feeling strong and happy and brave enough to take control of her life. A radical change was what was needed, and she was going to start by taking a sabbatical, of sorts, to give herself more time to explore this new relationship.

What do you think about that, Ricardo? she laughed, using the familiar name she always called Mr. Kay.

During the course of the cruise, Diana and Dodi had talked, as lovers do, about the kind of future they might have together. Is it possible, do you think, that we could ever live like normal people? Could we somehow carve out a private life for ourselves? she had wondered.

Why not? he had said. Eventually the clamoring paparazzi will get bored with us and start stalking someone else. I mean, you will, of course, always be one of the ‘beautiful people,’ but as time passes, hopefully, the obsession will cool a bit.

Diana had noticed a secret smile, off and on, all that day in Paris, and wondered what Dodi was planning.

Of course, she found out later, that he had made a quick trip over to Repossi’s Jewelers while she was having her hair done. And even though it was a mere forty-five second walk across the Place Vendôme to the shop, he’d had to take a car in order to avoid the horde of paparazzi camped out in